


Meaningful Looks

by Suspicious_Popsicle



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4275051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suspicious_Popsicle/pseuds/Suspicious_Popsicle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yuri thinks there’s something wrong with him. Flynn knows he’s lucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meaningful Looks

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Written for the tumblr Fluri Week prompt 'Mamihlapintapei'--(Yagan - indigenous language of Tierra del Fuego) the wordless, yet meaningful look shared by two people who both desire to initiate something but are both reluctant to start. This was supposed to be simple, but my demisexual!Yuri headcanon complicated things a bit.
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters and settings in this story are from Tales of Vesperia and do not belong to me.

The inn at Yumanju was famous for two things: its hot springs and its luxury. Flynn was availing himself of both at the moment as he soaked alone in a private spring connected to the suite he had reserved for himself and Yuri. Availing himself of, but not particularly enjoying, given the circumstances. He sighed.

 _Yuri_ , he thought with fierce conviction, _is a stubborn jackass._

At war with his frustrations, the steaming waters of the spring were doing little to ease the tension in his muscles and Flynn gave up on trying to enjoy his soak. He got out of the water and wrapped his towel around his waist. He'd left his clothes—or rather one of the robes provided by the resort—in the small bathhouse connected to the suite, so it was there he headed first rather than going straight back to the rooms. If Yuri had been capable of expressing some common courtesy and doing the same, they might not be stuck in the stalemate that was spoiling their vacation. He pushed open the sliding door and froze on the threshold.

Yuri was sitting on one of the two low stools, completely naked and sparsely covered with suds. Legs stretched out before him, he was scrubbing off, working up a lather all down the length of his thighs and calves. His skin glistened, inviting Flynn to touch, to help him rinse off, to shower kisses over his freshly scrubbed body....

Throat suddenly dry, Flynn swallowed, forcing down the urge to go to him, to slip his arms around Yuri, to kiss him and feel him close and eager, to elicit all those wanton little sounds that drove him absolutely mad with wanting even when he was certain he couldn't desire Yuri any more than he already did. His fingers twitched at his sides, and he balled his hands into fists. It took an effort of will to move, to step forward and walk past Yuri. Somehow, he managed it, managed even to avoid sneaking a peek for several long moments as he toweled off, standing before the cubby that held his robe.

The rush and splatter of falling water behind him broke his will and drew his gaze. Yuri was rinsing off with a shower head, turning this way and that as he washed away the suds, revealing pale skin and a scattering of old scars.

Flynn knew Yuri well: knew his habits and quirks, his likes and pet peeves, his heart and mind. He knew Yuri's body: knew the shape of it and the texture of his scars; knew how it fit against him, in him; knew how his skin tasted; how it felt on a cold winter night or a humid spring morning, covered in dust or sunk in the warm water of a tub. He knew all of this and still he couldn't help but stare as Yuri washed himself clean, dextrous hands rushing carelessly over his skin to hasten away the last of the lather.

Yuri very nearly caught him staring when he straightened up, but Flynn looked quickly back to his cubby and the thin cotton robe it held. He had to turn away to lower his towel, not wanting Yuri to see how strong an effect the mere sight of him caused. Even then, there was no escape. A small mirror hung on the wall beside the door. In it, he could see Yuri go to work rinsing the shampoo out of his hair. Face upturned and eyes shut tight, he arced his back to let the inky mass of his hair hang free. He switched off ruffling suds out of his hair with one hand and holding the shower head with the other. When it came to washing his hair, he was thorough enough. It was drying it that he ignored. Yuri's hair would remain wet for hours to come. It was what had gotten the whole mess started.

All of a sudden, Yuri lowered his head and opened his eyes. His gaze immediately sought the mirror as if drawn by the weight of Flynn's stare. Their eyes locked via the reflection, and both stood still, waiting for the other to make the first move.

Yuri never had been very good at waiting.

“You ready to cave?” he asked. He cocked his head to the side. His hair was a spill of liquid darkness over one shoulder, trying to carry Flynn's attention down his body.

Rediscovering his will and the robe that had hung forgotten from his fingers, Flynn traded his towel for something a little less revealing. Yuri was still staring when he finished fastening the cloth belt around his waist, and he met the reflection of those inscrutable eyes once more.

“Discipline is something the Knights take pride in. I'm no exception on that count. Let me know when you're ready to give in.”

He strode out of the bathhouse before Yuri could either respond or notice how badly in need of self-discipline Flynn really was. The robes were comfortable enough, but not terribly concealing when it came to certain potentially embarrassing personal matters. He retreated to the safety of their rooms, though the sound of Yuri leaving the bathhouse and settling himself in the hot spring flowed right through the thin paper doors and into Flynn's imagination. He wanted to sit with Yuri in that spring beneath the stars, wanted to listen to the murmur of his voice, feel his skin beneath the water, trade kisses in the soft clouds of steam that blurred the night.

Aching for Yuri, he bit his lip and tried to remember that it was his friend's fault that they weren't doing exactly that just at the moment. He tried to remind himself how infuriating Yuri had been and why, exactly, it was important that he come to Flynn, rather than the other way around.

It hadn't even started out as a serious disagreement.

They had arrived at Yumanju two days before. It had been a long journey, miserable with storms that had plagued the ship they'd taken most of the way from Capua Nor. Although Yuri had met him in the harbor town expressly so that they could travel together, they'd both been too exhausted that night to do anything more than topple into bed at the inn and sleep. Their journey by sea hadn't allowed them much privacy, and the rough waters had been hell on Flynn's stomach. It had taken him the better part of a day and their first night at Yumanju to stop feeling like the world was swaying beneath his feet.

Things had started to look more promising on their second day. Yuri had challenged him to a duel, of course, and Flynn had been happy enough to accept. They'd explored the inn and its gardens, played a game of table tennis, and soaked together in the hot spring. Everything had been going wonderfully until that evening. They'd been having dinner and sipping rice wine from tiny, porcelain cups, and Flynn had wanted to go sit outside on the veranda and watch the stars. He had gotten up from his seat and gone around the table. As he had passed behind Yuri, running a hand across his shoulders in invitation, he had walked right over the soaked floor where Yuri's hair had been dripping for the last hour. Water had seeped into the mats. It also seeped into Flynn's socks and startled a yelp out of him.

Yuri had laughed, of course. “What the hell was that?”

“My socks are wet.” His grumbling had been met with further quiet laughter, and he'd hit Yuri lightly atop the head with his fist. “It's your fault.”

“It's my fault you wear socks inside?”

“You let your hair drip all over the floor again. Why can't you dry it properly?”

“Who cares?”

“I do.” He had knelt down beside Yuri and pressed his hand against the floor. “These mats are soaked. Who knows how long this is going to take to dry?”

“Flynn.” Yuri had grabbed hanks of his hair to either side of his face and yanked to get his attention. “Shut up. We're supposed to be on vacation, remember?”

He'd pulled Flynn closer, brushing their lips together for a hint of a kiss, a suggestion of how much more pleasant things could be if Flynn just let it go and relaxed. He had been so invitingly warm, though his hair had grown chilled. It had lain heavy against Yuri's neck and back, plastering his robe to his skin with the water that had seeped from it. Flynn had had to settle his hands at Yuri's waist to avoid the chill damp. He'd pressed in close, following up that first little breath of a kiss with one that had a bit of fire to it. His hands had wandered unhurriedly over Yuri's hips, down to his thighs. He had felt Yuri's knuckles against his cheeks, fingers barely curled around the hair that always seemed to sweep forward over the sides of his face. It had been the gravity of the kiss that had held them together, though: the slow parting of lips, the draw of tongues still slightly hesitant over the newness of this way of being together.

A cold drop of water had splashed down on the back of Flynn's hand. It had been followed by another, and he'd pulled back to see that a lock of Yuri's hair had slipped over his shoulder and was dripping slowly. He'd tucked it back behind Yuri's ear and murmured with an exasperation tinged by fondness that perhaps he ought to cut Yuri off until he learned how to dry his hair properly.

His words had startled a laugh out of Yuri, and he'd pulled back, hands holding Flynn in place and preventing him from continuing the kiss. He'd shown teeth when he grinned, challenge bright in his eyes.

“Like that would actually work.”

Flynn would have let it go, he really would have. He hadn't been serious to begin with. It had been nothing but a throwaway thought that had escaped while he was preoccupied. But Yuri hadn't been able to keep his big mouth shut.

“No way you could last long enough.”

* * *

 

They'd known each other practically all their lives, and Yuri still wasn't sure if Flynn had been tempting him or ogling him in the bathhouse. Arrogant bastard with his itty bitty modesty towel and his nice thighs and incredible shoulders. Before he'd fallen for Flynn, Yuri hadn't ever considered that shoulders could even _be_ attractive. Flynn's though.... Just a little broader than his own and glistening damp from the spring. Yuri had wanted so badly to shove him right up against the wall and run his hands all up and down Flynn's back and shoulders. He knew part of that temptation came from the fact that he _couldn't—_ not without throwing away his pride—but damn it, that had been hard to resist!

He left the bathhouse behind to go soak in the spring. Steam rose up around him, softening the chill of the night air and blurring the world around him. The heat soothed away some of his tension, but he couldn't stop mulling over Flynn and his own reaction to him. The line between friends and lovers had disappeared less than a year ago when Flynn had kissed him in a cramped tent in an empty field where the city of Aurnion had since been built. Flynn had always been special to him in any number of ways. He'd certainly always been able to set off Yuri's temper easier than anyone else. As the only person Yuri had ever really been attracted to, however, it was alarming to see how powerful that attraction had become. It seemed like it had only gotten worse since they'd begun sharing a bed when the occasion presented itself.

Yuri grimaced as he realized he was tiptoeing around the new aspect of their relationship. Sex. He rolled the thought around in his mind, let it catch upon little filaments of memory: the pinch of teeth, the heat of bare skin against his thigh, the wetness of a tongue pressed to the hollow of his throat, Flynn's voice reduced to a breathy gasp, hands clamped on his hips, fingers around him, inside him—

Taking a deep breath, Yuri flung himself beneath the water's surface.

_Quit thinking about it! Quit thinking about it! Quit thinking about it!_

He held himself under until the need for air became so great that he was in danger of opening his mouth and inhaling the spring. He surfaced with a gasp and moved behind a small outcropping of rocks, the only place in the little spring that was hidden from the veranda of their room. Safely out of view, he tried to get his breathing back under control as he wondered what the hell was wrong with him. Flynn hadn't been so badly affected, and he'd walked in on Yuri stark naked without even a towel to cover him up. Was it because Flynn had always been normal that it hadn't bothered him? He'd had lovers before, one or two that hadn't become anything serious, but it was more than Yuri'd had, more than Yuri had ever even _wanted_ , honestly.

Staring at the mottling of darkness and moonlight on the ripples of the water, Yuri searched for his broken reflection. He'd always known that he lacked something. Maybe it had just been buried. Maybe Flynn had brought it out and now it was making up for lost time.

Somehow, that wasn't reassuring.

He soaked for as long as he could, longer, probably, than he should have. The heat of the water followed him out of the spring, making him feel light enough to float away on the steam. Returing to the bathhouse in a daze, he pulled on his robe without bothering to dry off. Let Flynn yell at him for letting his hair drip all over the floor. Who cared? Not Yuri. He didn't have the energy.

Back in their rooms, Flynn was sitting beneath one of the round, cedar-screened windows, reading. He had glasses on, something he'd grumbled about at first and eventually purchased out of necessity. Yuri was surprised to see him wearing them. Even though Flynn needed them when he read, the last time Yuri had visited he still hadn't much liked them.

It was strange to see him wearing glasses. They made him look less like the boy Yuri had grown up with. Then again, Flynn hadn't looked that way since before he'd joined the Knights. Uniforms suited him, but they stripped him of something, too. They put a barely-there strain on the bond between them, a distance that Yuri could almost forget about until he would be lucky enough to see Flynn wearing a regular old shirt and pair of pants, serviceable and worn and reminiscent of their lives growing up in the Lower Quarter where having just enough was a blessing. Whenever Flynn would don his uniform after such an encounter, Yuri would feel the difference between them anew. It was only a year ago that he'd begun to see that the difference between them wasn't one that left him less than Flynn.

“Yuri...?”

“Huh?”

He'd been caught staring. He had to focus to actually meet Flynn's eyes, even though he'd been studying his face. The whole picture was wrong—the glasses, the robe, everything. Where was the Flynn he'd grown up with? The one who used to run through the streets with him battling imaginary monsters as often as they fought each other? Where was the Flynn who had learned how harsh life can be for those who only have what they earn with their own hands rather than what they tax from others or inherit as an accident of birth? Where was the boy with skinned knees and dirt on his cheeks and so much determination in his heart that Yuri had been won over so completely that he'd never torn himself free?

“Are you all right?” Flynn was taking off his glasses. That was better. That was a little closer to the truth beneath all those uniforms, all that adherence to law and duty that could only go so far but was maddeningly, inescapably necessary for the future they wanted to build.

“Yeah. Fine.” The room tilted beneath him, and he turned away from Flynn so that he could shut his eyes a moment. He took a careful step, then another. The door to the bedroom had been this way, hadn't it?

“Are you sure you're all right?” His voice came from just behind Yuri's ear.

 _Fuck_. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to stand perfectly still so that his head would stop spinning and his knees wouldn't buckle. He was too weary to lie.

“I might have stayed in the water too long.”

“You shouldn't go boiling what little brains you have.” Despite the teasing, Flynn's hands settled gently on Yuri's shoulders. “Come on. You look like you need to lie down.”

Yuri didn't even want to argue with that. He let Flynn guide him to his pallet, and settled down on top of it before his friend could even attempt to pull back the blanket for him. Flynn said something that he didn't catch. It took Yuri a moment to even realize that he had left the room. Walking out again, just like earlier. The whole fight had been Flynn's own stupid fault in the first place.

“ _Excuse me? Are you trying to say that_ you _could outlast_ me _?”_

“ _Trying? I'm saying it outright.”_

“ _Yuri, you have_ no _impulse control. There is no way I would be the first to give in.”_

“ _Oh yeah? Remember the time you split up with—”_

“ _You want to start this argument? Fine. You'll end it, too, when you get sick of trying to handle things yourself—_ again _.”_

He hadn't _been_ trying to handle it himself. He'd been trying to prove that he would still be okay the way he used to be, back before he'd found that he liked the way Flynn touched him and loved the way Flynn kissed him. Back before sex had ever been a consideration. How the hell had Flynn been able to _do_ this to him?

A breeze drifted over his skin, air displaced as Flynn strode back into the room and sat down next to him. He held a bowl, and picked something out of it which he brought to Yuri's lips.

“Here. Suck on this. It'll help cool you down.”

Although Flynn's eyes were shadowed in the gloom, Yuri fixed his gaze on them anyway. He opened his mouth, lips parting around the tips of Flynn's fingers. Coolness trickled over his tongue, and he realized that Flynn had brought a bowl of ice chips. He sucked on the piece Flynn had given him, wishing that those blessedly cool fingers would stroke his cheek, push his hair back from his brow. He wanted Flynn to set the bowl aside, to lean down and kiss him. He wanted to feel that little piece of ice dissolved between their tongues. He wanted Flynn to stretch out beside him, to ease the robe off his shoulders, to kiss along his bared skin so that at least there would be a reason for his body to feel as if it had been set aflame. He held Flynn's gaze and wanted all these things and wanted to know that he didn't need them and wanted to feel _normal_ for _once in his life_. The words faded away faster than the piece of ice melted on his tongue, and he remained silent.

* * *

 

It had taken Flynn a long time to get to sleep last night.

Once Yuri had finally drifted off, Flynn had gone out to the veranda and lit the lanterns. He had taken up his book and put his glasses back on and tried to read. The story had just barely been enough to take his mind off of Yuri.

Even addled by heat exhaustion, Yuri still had one of the most intense stares of anyone Flynn had ever met. Last night, staring into Yuri's eyes while feeding him ice chips, Flynn had felt as if Yuri could see straight through him. While he was glad to be able to share so much of his life with Yuri, it had been a little unnerving to see him staring as if he knew every thought going through Flynn's mind: every traitorous little suggestion about the way Yuri's robe hung loose, exposing his chest and most of a shoulder; the way his lips had been just slightly parted when Flynn had first offered the ice; the way his mouth had been warm and soft around the tips of Flynn's fingers; the way a flick of his tongue had sent a shiver up Flynn's spine before he'd drawn his hand back; the flush of his skin; the brightness of his eyes; the heave of his chest.

Though concern had outweighed all suggestions his imagination had come up with, he was still ashamed that they had surfaced at all. He told himself that it was only because he was frustrated and because their argument was weighing on him. If Yuri hadn't insisted on turning a careless remark into a matter of pride, they could have enjoyed the spring _together_. Flynn could have made sure that Yuri didn't stay in too long. They could have spent the evening catching up and making love for the first time in over a month. Instead, Yuri had squandered another of his nights at the most expensive resort in the world. He'd probably been out in the spring sulking and had lost track of time. It served him right, then, for stewing about the problem rather than just admitting he'd been in the wrong. He was unashamedly, incurably stubborn. It was incredibly frustrating.

He looked at Yuri across the breakfast table. If he was suffering any ill effects after last night, it wasn't obvious in the way he was wolfing down his food. He seemed so unconcerned over what had happened, over the fact that they only had a few more days together. Did it bother him at all that they were sleeping apart from each other at night, or did he really not care whether or not they took advantage of the chance to make love? Was that really of so little importance to him?

“How long are you going to let this go on?” Flynn demanded.

Yuri looked up at him, surprised. The abruptness of the question didn't throw him off for long, though. “Hey, if you want me so bad you can't stand it—”

“You are such an—!” Words failed him. He slammed a hand onto the table and leaned forward. “Yuri, this is ridiculous!”

Yuri set his cup down. He placed both his hands on the table and rose up on his knees to lean across. “Then end it,” he challenged.

“ _I_ didn't start it!”

“You're the one keeping it going!”

“Don't talk like you're not at fault!”

“Then quit acting like I'm the only one that is!”

They were nose-to-nose over the remains of breakfast, braced on their hands and baring their teeth as the blame they passed back and forth heated their tempers. The sudden pause seemed to stretch out, eternity's own eye blink. Flynn's pounding heart seemed slowed. He could see every little fleck of coal and smoke in Yuri's eyes, could feel his breath, could sense suddenly the tension between them that had been venting through their words but drew instantly taut with that moment of quiet. Yuri's gaze flickered down, and Flynn didn't even realize he had licked his own lips until he saw Yuri mirror the gesture. A tilt of his chin, a deep breath, and his lips would be on Yuri's. One tiny movement could end the stalemate between them. Just one touch of lips, the barest little kiss, and the floodgates would be torn apart, he was sure. He trembled on the edge of such temptation.

“Sword.”

Yuri had shattered the moment with a word. He set his jaw. His eyes became steely.

“What?”

“Get your sword. We'll settle it the way we always do.”

Flynn's gazed darted once more unbidden to Yuri's lips, thin and unsmiling. He knew the warmth and welcome Yuri could convey when he chose, and he ached for the lost opportunity. Regret fueled his irritation, built it up into a blaze inside him. Easing back, he nodded once, sharply. Yuri could have his fight, much joy may it bring him.

Stubborn jackass.

* * *

 

Flynn had almost gotten him. When he'd suddenly quit shouting, Yuri had teetered on the edge of giving in. They'd been close enough that he'd felt Flynn's warmth like phantom hands cupping his cheeks. He'd caught a glimpse of Flynn's tongue as he wet his lips and Yuri had never wanted to kiss him as badly as he'd wanted to right then. He'd never wanted to kiss _anybody_ aside from Flynn, and he'd made himself satisfied with keeping even that private for several years. Flynn had accused Yuri of starting their current fight, but it had been him who'd gotten it all started. He'd been the one to offer Yuri love like regular people had: that romantic nonsense, that attraction that Yuri had never believed would be part of his life because he'd known for a long time that he wasn't quite normal.

They didn't look at each other as they changed out of their robes and took up their sheathed swords. Yuri barely felt the weight of it in his hand. He was caught by the barbs of the past. Memories from their teenage years of Flynn talking about the girls that had caught his eye and, more hesitantly, the boys, had filled his thoughts. Yuri had never had much to say on the matter. He'd never been drawn to anyone that way, not until he realized that he wasn't averse to the idea of Flynn noticing him the way he'd noticed those few others. Then again, he'd never exactly been an ideal match for Flynn. For a long time, he'd believed even their friendship was detrimental. It had all been a hellish pain in the ass, enough to make him almost glad that the wasn't the same as everybody else, that he'd never craved romance or its messy complications.

It still hurt. It still ached and made him feel so...so incomplete. But then had come his adventure away from Zaphias and the events around him were suddenly so much more important than his own failings. And he'd grown, and he'd proven himself, and he'd found friends that were as much like a family as the people who had raised him in the Lower Quarter. He'd thought that he could put all those humiliating inadequacies behind himself. He'd had a path again. He had his confidence back. He'd thought that those things and distance would be enough to dull the longing that only Flynn inspired in him.

Then there'd been that night after the battle with the monsters. Flynn had taken him aside, brought him back to his tiny little tent that offered only an illusion of privacy, and it had been there, sitting knee-to-knee in darkness, that Flynn had offered Yuri his heart.

Yuri remembered vividly how warm Flynn's hands had been around his, how tight their grip, how damp his palms. He'd been nervous. He'd been relieved. He'd thought Yuri dead and then refused to waste the second chance they'd been given. Yuri hadn't been sure he'd have done the same if their positions had been reversed. He still wasn't.

He remembered the uncertainty in Flynn's voice when he'd asked to kiss him. He remembered how Flynn had leaned forward, little more than a bit of warmth and texture amid the darkness. He remembered freezing up at the feel of lips against his and being suddenly dropped right back into his role as second best when he realized he had absolutely no idea what to do. He'd let Flynn kiss him a second time and a third, and then there had been hands tangling in his hair and the feel of Flynn's forehead pressed to his, their noses touching, the tickle of a shuddering breath exhaled over his lips. He'd realized that Flynn was crying and his hands had moved on their own, reaching up to twine his fingers between Flynn's.

“I thought I'd lost you.”

The whispered words were tremulous with misery or relief or both. Yuri had pulled Flynn close, right onto his lap. He'd held him tight and stroked his back and laid hesitant kisses against his hair, taking small, selfish comfort in the fact that he could, that it was welcomed. They'd fallen asleep in each others' arms that night, and Flynn had smiled sheepishly for him the next morning with red-rimmed eyes. It had left Yuri marveling over the knowledge that it hadn't all been a dream.

Over the next several months, they'd had time to explore what it meant to love one another in this new way. It had been...incredible. For the first time in longer than he could remember, Yuri had felt complete. What more could he have asked for? Passion had always come easily to him and Flynn, and they'd tumbled into love with almost none of the problems Yuri would have expected.

Maybe it had been _too_ easy, though. Maybe he should have tried to be more careful about it all. There was something addictive to being loved like that, something that made it harder and harder to leave Flynn's side. He had made trips to Zaphias during which he'd barely left Flynn's bedroom. And now Flynn had gone and opened his big mouth and, even though Yuri knew he'd only been kidding, he couldn't quite shake the thought that he was no longer in control of himself, that his desires might be strong enough to use against him. What he _wanted_ wasn't supposed to matter. Being able to set his own desires aside was one source of his strength. It was what separated him and Flynn from people like Ragou and Cumore.

The worst of it was that he _knew_ he was making too big a deal out of it, but he couldn't help himself. Maybe if Flynn had shown even a hint that he was as bothered as Yuri was after only a couple of days, maybe then it wouldn't be eating away at him still. Flynn wasn't bothered, though. He was only pissed off because Yuri was being stubborn.

Yuri wondered if Flynn would remember about all this when they next had time to be together. He wondered if Flynn would still bother trying to make his point, or if he would have let it go by then. He wondered what he would do if the first thing Flynn asked him the next time they met was: 'Have you learned to dry your hair properly?'

He was broken out of his thoughts when Flynn sighed gustily. “Are we really going to do this?”

“Huh?”

Looking up, Yuri saw him leaning in the doorway, backlit by the sunny room beyond. He wore a simple, light blue shirt and an old pair of pants. He'd brought no armor and no shield with him to buckle on and shape him. His sword was finer than anything common to the Lower Quarter, but it was sheathed and set aside. He was watching Yuri with a tiny frown on his face. His eyes were the blue of childhood skies.

“This is stupid. How did we even let it get this far?”

Grin wide enough and any truth can sound like a lie. “That's what you get for thinking you can manipulate me with sex.”

Flynn heaved another sigh. He studied Yuri for a moment, then cocked his head to the side and held out a hand. “Come here.”

He obeyed, though he couldn't say why. Maybe it was just because he didn't want to fight with Flynn when there was nothing important at stake. He should never have let his stupid insecurities get so out of hand. He'd come so far over the past two years, but it seemed like that wasn't enough time to pull himself together. What in the world did Flynn see in him?

As he closed the distance between them, he met Flynn's stare and held it. He wanted to wrap himself around Flynn and kiss him until all his doubts melted away. He wanted to hear Flynn cry out his name like there was no one else in the world for him...like the way he was the only person Yuri had ever wanted, would ever want. He wanted to know that they were the same in this, too, that Flynn loved him just as deeply. He hated that he so often had trouble believing that.

* * *

 

Holding Yuri's gaze as he stepped forward, Flynn knew something was wrong by the way he'd closed off his expression. It was reflexive, a defense mechanism Yuri had developed to hide away his vulnerability. There was something more going on than just a matter of foolish pride, and he wished he knew what it was. He wished Yuri would talk to him for once, but at least if he could end their stupid feud, that would be a step in the right direction.

Yuri was reaching out before they were close enough to touch. His fingers curled around Flynn's as if the two of them were made to be always hand-in-hand. All Flynn wanted to do was yank him in close and kiss him until all his walls broke down. He wanted to make things okay somehow, even if that somehow was only the temporary reprieve of their lovemaking. It was an effort to hold himself back, but he saw the weight of what Yuri was holding back in the blank set of his expression. There was something Yuri needed from him, but wasn't willing to say. He wished he knew what it was.

“May I kiss you?”

Surprise flooded Yuri's face. “Huh?”

“I want to kiss you. May I?”

He looked almost wary. “You asked me that the very first time.”

“Did I?” Thinking back, he realized that Yuri was right. He had asked for and received permission before their very first kiss. That had been far and away a different situation, but...but there was something about the way Yuri had been acting....

“Yeah. You did. Why are you asking now?”

“Well...I thought that if I asked and you agreed, it would mean that both of us gave in and this stupid fight would be over.” He hesitated, then added gently: “And because something's bothering you, but I don't know what. I can't help you with your burdens if you won't share them, but won't you at least let me be with you so that you aren't alone with them?”

“You've been with me for days,” Yuri grumbled. He still held Flynn's gaze, searching for something there. He must have found it, because he didn't break eye contact until he stepped forward and bumped his forehead against Flynn's, letting his eyes slide shut. “Please,” he whispered the word so softly that Flynn almost didn't catch it. It was all he needed to hear.

Yuri's lips were soft and warm. Flynn reached for his other hand and took hold of it, squeezing Yuri's fingers. He remembered that first kiss. He'd been holding Yuri's hands that time, too, and it was a miracle he'd been able to swallow back the tears for as long as he had. Just the memories from that night and the weeks preceding it were enough to make him want to wrap Yuri up in the tightest embrace, bear him to the floor, bury himself in all the myriad sensations of lovemaking: the feel of Yuri's skin and scars and all the little tangles in his hair; the taste of his kisses, of the sweat of his skin, of his most intimate places; the sound of clothes being pulled away, breath hastening into gasps and then moans, the sound of his name the way only Yuri called it and only when they were wrapped up in each other. Despite all the thoughts that flew through his mind, Flynn kept the kiss sweet, chaste. His grip on Yuri's hands held tight, and he tugged him closer, his only concession to his desires...for the moment.

When they broke the kiss, Yuri didn't pull away. Instead, he leaned forward, hiding his face in the crook of Flynn's neck. “You know this means I win, right?”

“What? No, nobody wins. Or both of us do. One or the other. This isn't about—”

“If we feel the same, but you're the one who hit the breaking point, it means I won.”

Flynn frowned. It seemed obvious that he was missing something. Yuri wasn't bragging or teasing him, exactly. There was something else in his voice.

“It means I'm better at working out favorable solutions. Are you sure your brain isn't overcooked after last night?”

“Never mind. You wouldn't understand.”

 _Funny how that happens when you refuse to explain._ He kept the outburst to himself, not wanting to backtrack now that they were finally heading in the right direction. Instead, he sighed, gave Yuri's hands a squeeze, and let the irritation go.

“All right. If it means that much to you, then yes. You won.” He leaned his head to the side, resting his cheek against Yuri's hair and added softly: “I don't think I would have been able to stand it if we'd had to part without more than a few kisses.”

Yuri laughed against him. The tickle of his breath over Flynn's collarbone made him shiver. “Oh, come on. It wasn't that big a deal.”

“Maybe not to you.” Yuri had never looked twice at anybody else. There were still times that Flynn could barely believe that his feelings were reciprocated. How had he been fortunate enough to be the only person Yuri loved so fully?

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Confused, Yuri pulled back finally to look him in the eye. Flynn just smiled. He pulled his hands free and wrapped his arms around Yuri to hold him close. He kissed the tip of his nose, knowing exactly how it would make Yuri scrunch up his face in distaste. His heart fluttered in his chest. He'd never thought to be so lucky when it came to love.

“Never mind,” he said fondly, gently teasing by handing Yuri's own words back to him. “You wouldn't understand.”

Yuri considered that, cocked his head to the side and opened his mouth as he thought about arguing, then simply caught Flynn's gaze and silently held it. Flynn studied the way Yuri's eyes still captured light and shone despite the shadows that darkened their stormy gray to charcoal black. He tried to gauge the weight of that stare, to glean some understanding from it. Mostly, though, he fought against the temptation to kiss him breathless that beat against his self control. Flynn let him work through whatever was on his mind and, when he had his answer, it was Yuri who pressed in just a little bit closer for another kiss.


End file.
